


The Letter

by CascadianRain



Series: So Long to Devotion [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bittersweet, F/M, Healing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nostalgia, Post-All That Remains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 07:37:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CascadianRain/pseuds/CascadianRain
Summary: 9:34 Dragon, after midsummerWhen Sebastian learns of Leandra’s fate, he rushes to the Hawke estate, only to find that Charlie hasn’t been home in weeks. To make things easier for her when she returns, he sets to organising Leandra’s desk, knowing that Charlie hates dealing with the administrative side of running an estate in Hightown. But amongst bills and correspondence, he finds a letter from fifteen years before. A letter that mentions him by name.





	The Letter

The weeks passed with no sign of Hawke. Blossoms bloomed and fell, and the summer heat seeped into Kirkwall's ancient stones. Sebastian tried not to think about her, but it was like trying to ignore a severed limb.

He still donned his armour every morning, now less because he feared an attack on his life, and instead in the hope that Hawke would walk through the Chantry doors and crook a finger, beckoning him to adventure.

Already early evening, it didn't seem likely that today would break the pattern of disappointment. Even so, Sebastian's restless steps carried him down the length of the Chantry, toward the promise beyond its heavy doors. As he passed by two gossiping Sisters, he stuttered to a halt when they whispered a familiar name.

"Say that again?" He half-choked on the words.

"Leandra Amell—she was murdered by a blood mage. Some say the Grand Enchanter was involved—"

Sebastian barely restrained himself from gripping the Sister by her arms; instead he balled his fists by his sides. “And her daughter? What word of her?"

"Messere Hawke was the one who tracked down the murderer. Same one that killed Ninette de Carrac all those years ago, and several other women, too. If it weren't for Hawke, the madman would still be out there, with the city guard still chasing their own tails. Mind you, Meredith's Templars are no better..."

Sebastian had stopped listening. He was already stumbling for the doors. Out in the humid, evening air, he raced down the steps and sprinted across Hightown, ignoring the shouts and jeers of those he passed.

Outwardly, the Hawke Estate remained unchanged save for one thing: black cloths draped over the once proud crests that flanked the door. He might be seen them days sooner if he'd bothered to leave the Chantry once in a while. Or if he had the courage to seek Hawke out, rather than always waiting for her to come to him. After their last encounter, he'd thought it best to give her space. She’d made it clear she didn’t need him… He regretted that now, but there would be time to punish himself later.

His urgent knocking was answered by Hawke’s manservant.

Bodahn recovered quickly from his shock, and stood aside. “Messere Vael, please come in.”

“Charlotte, is she in?” Sebastian strode into the front room and already knew the answer. Hawke’s fearsome-on-the-outside, cuddly-on-the-inside Mabari was not lying in his usual place by the fire.

“Oh no, she hasn’t been here for more than a minute since—since—well, you know.” Bodahn’s hands kneaded over themselves, his sad gaze cast to the carpet. “It’s been two weeks already. I do hope Messere Hawke is keeping well.”

 _Two weeks._ Maker help him. “Then...then she’s staying with friends? Fenris?” The name ground out between clenched teeth.

“Fenris? By the stone, I shouldn’t think so. Haven’t seen him in well over a month. Not since he ran out in the middle of the night. Gave my boy quite the fright when he slammed the door.”

Rather than relief, Sebastian ached with Hawke’s pain. Was there no one to comfort her, when her own dear mother was taken from her? Without knowing where she was, all he could do was make things easier for her when she eventually returned, and pray to the Maker to keep her in His Light.

“Bodahn, may I see Mistress Amell’s desk?”

“Of course, messere, this way.”

Bodahn led him into the library, then upstairs to the landing which overlooked the crammed shelves and cozy fireplace. A modest desk was tucked in the corner, with piles of papers leaning into each other and spilling over. Peeking out from beneath them was a worn child’s doll with a ‘B’ embroidered on its coat, and on the other side, a colourful glass cup held a mismatched collection of ink-stained pens. Clearly Leandra had spent much time here, composing and reading letters.

The mere sight of this would be enough to overwhelm anyone deep in grief, no matter how many weeks had passed. Some of these letters would need urgent seeing to, while others could wait months or years, or never be opened again. Sorting them was the very least he could do.

“I may be a while,” Sebastian said.

“Shall I prepare you a cup of tea, serah?”

“Thank you, Bodahn.” What he really needed was a whiskey.

He unbuckled his breastplate and vambraces and set them in the corner, then turned the key in the lamp to brighten its flame. This would be no quick task.

By the time Bodahn returned with a tray of a silver teapot, cup and saucer, and milk pot, Sebastian had three piles of papers on the floor beside his chair. One, the smallest, for things requiring urgent attention, the second for things related to the running of the estate or to Leandra’s work toward rebuilding the Amell name, and the third for personal correspondence.

The piles grew larger, the desk clearer, and Sebastian poured himself a second cup of tea. There was an ache in his shoulders, but he would gladly suffer worse for Hawke’s sake.

His cup was half empty and cold when he pulled a yellowed envelope toward him and froze. The hand that had written _Leandra Amell_ across it was as familiar to him as his own. Scarcely breathing, he pulled the delicate paper from its envelope. His gaze flicked to the bottom of the second sheet just to be sure he wasn’t deluding himself, and there he saw it: his mother’s signature.

The date in the corner read 9:19 Dragon. Sebastian slid his eyes closed and counted. _Fourteen_. A year after his grandfather’s promise about the bow. The papers trembled in his fingers as he began to read.

Meghan Vael asked after Leandra’s health and that of her young family, asked how Ferelden was treating them. She dearly missed her friend and their social calls. His mother wrote with pride that her two eldest sons were following in their father’s footsteps and Starkhaven’s prosperity was assured. She told of a Starkhaven that Sebastian barely remembered: a father who ruled fairly but decisively, brothers who were stronger than he and never failed to remind him.

And then she mentioned Sebastian. How he was throwing himself into training with his bow, but that being third didn’t suit him. He chafed in his brothers’ shadows. Would Leandra consider a match between him and her eldest daughter? They were quite close in age and it would mean so much to Meghan. She can’t give the heir or the spare to an estranged noble, no matter how old the house, but she would gladly give her beloved baby, who lacked purpose as adulthood beckoned.

_Beloved…_

Leandrea must have received the letter in Lothering and kept it all these years. He knew his mother held the Amells in high esteem, but the friendship with Leandra must have been dear to them both.

How did Leandra reply? Why did he never hear of his almost-engagement? How different his and Charlie’s lives would be if they’d married young. Would he still have fallen to taverns, angry that yet again the course of his life was chosen for him? Or would the purpose, as his mother put it, have saved him?

A smile tugged at his lips. He didn’t imagine Hawke to be the marrying type. Always flirting with her friends, but maintaining a distance. To push past those barriers—who was she behind the sarcastic remarks and ribald jokes? Did the Charlie behind the Hawke spare a thought for sharing her heart with another someday?

That evening in the Chantry, he might have uncovered something. Exposed and rejected, she’d turned instead to Fenris. But...Fenris had left. And now this.

Sebastian carefully refolded the letter, mindful of its crisp edges as he slipped it back into its envelope. It didn’t fit in any of his piles: a proposed engagement from fifteen years ago was not urgent, nor did it involve the running of the estate or maintaining the Amell-Hawke name—not anymore. As for personal...it was so much more than that. Guiltily, Sebastian wished he could take it for himself. This was a reminder of his mother from a time before his actions furrowed a crease of disappointment in her brow.

The letter was too important to leave amongst the still unsorted papers. Instead, Sebastian leaned it reverently against the doll, as though it patiently held the letter until its recipient could read it.

He took a moment to feel the reawakened sorrow, but a moment was all he allowed it, and returned to his task. There was still quite a lot to go, and the night was wearing on. With each paper sorted, Sebastian’s eyelids grew heavier. He stretched out his sore shoulders and swore he was only resting his eyes for a moment as he folded his arms across the cleared desk...

It was a dream...no more than a dream… He felt pressure from a pair of hands, one on his shoulder, the other on his arm, and then warmth from a kiss bloomed across his cheekbone. Sweet comfort washed through him and eased him back into slumber.

\+ + +

Charlie tucked the blanket around Sebastian’s shoulders and quietly left the library study as his breathing evened out once more. She’d come home around four in the morning, exhausted and limping, and sagged against the front door to shut it. Then she saw the glow from the lamp in the study and leapt back into high alert.

But Chevalier wasn’t growling. He sniffed the air and wagged his tail tiredly and flopped onto the carpet before the banked fire.

 _Such a great guard dog_. Charlie inched forward, gripping her staff. She’d staunchly avoided the study—not even glancing at the door the few times she’d been forced by need to return to the estate over the last two weeks. Her eyes swept up to her mother’s desk and with a soft, “oh,” she lowered the staff. She instantly recognized the chestnut hair resting on strong arms. Usually fastidiously brushed back, it was odd—but oh so cute—to see it so dishevelled.

She returned with a blanket and, as she tucked it around Sebastian’s shoulders, he stirred slightly, letting out a low, sleepy groan. She squeezed his arms gently and pressed her lips to his cheek.

She didn’t deserve his kindness, after she’d walked out on him so flippantly and hadn’t spared him even a note since. What a fool she’d been, for so many things.

Charlie shut the door to her room and peeled off her armour. Most mages only wore robes, but most mages didn’t need to worry about knives in the back and swords in the front. She winced as a wound reopened when she stretched out a leg to remove her greaves. She left them in a pile—it would take all day tomorrow to clean and oil them, but she welcomed the mindless task.

She threw her clothes in another corner and quickly pulled on an old shirt and loose pants. She hated her skin to be bare. Ever since—no, she didn’t want to think about it.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she held a hand a few inches over the bruised Mabari bite and concentrated on a reality in which her muscle was strong and unhurt, and her skin whole. Blue light shone from her palm as the Veil thinned and reality shifted. When the light dimmed, the bite was gone and the muscle beneath only slightly tender. She smoothed the fabric down, straightening out the pant leg.

Charlie drew her knees up under her chin and gazed into the cold fireplace. Fenris had stood by that mantle, unable to look her in the eye. All she’d wanted was to not feel quite so alone—just for a moment. He’d said he was sorry, while Charlie dragged up a blanket to cover herself, and left with scarcely a good-bye.

Passion had cleared her mind of reason, had made a kiss go from desperate need for intimacy to—to something much more far too quickly. It wasn’t her first time. Just close enough. First since Ferelden anyway. But with a best friend like Isabela, and Varric always caressing his crossbow with a faraway look in his eye of a long ago love, Charlie had felt left out. She wished she still did.

Now she was even more alone than before. She’d thrown herself into jobs for the Knight-Captain, the Viscount, for anyone who needed a fighter. And she hadn’t been home when the white lilies arrived. If she had been—

No.

Enough of that.

_Enough._

_\+ + +_

Sebastian sat up stiffly and the blanket fell from his shoulders. He blinked at it, and his surroundings, in confusion until he saw the letter in the doll’s arms and it all rushed back in the dim darkness. Someone had turned off the lamp while he slept, and through the tall windows the sky held the glow of approaching dawn.

He shuffled the remaining letters into their own pile, then set the others on the desk as neatly as he could. He left the folded blanket on the chair, tucked his armour under his arm, and crept quietly into the front room. Bodahn was already up, stoking up the fire.

“Ah, Messere Vael, shall I fetch you breakfast?”

“Oh no, don’t bother yourself over me. I ought to be back at the Chantry before I’m missed.”

“I understand. On behalf of Messere Hawke, thank you.”

Chavelier pushed himself to his feet and shoved his great head against Sebastian’s legs. Must be the dog version of a hug. He smiled broadly and ran his hands over Chevalier’s short fur. It lightened his heart to know Hawke had returned home in the night and was safely upstairs. He knelt down, eye to eye with Chevalier and said softly, “You’re keeping an eye on her, boy?”

For a reply, Chevalier dragged his tongue across Sebastian’s face, startling a laugh from him. “My eternal gratitude, serah!”

He rose and combed fingers through his hair. It was well beyond time to take his leave.

As Sebastian passed by Hawke’s desk, a crumpled letter made him stop. It bore his name.

He picked it up, brows furrowed.

Bodahn noticed what drew his attention and said, “Ah yes, the invitation to dinner. I overheard messere and the mistress arguing about it. Mistress was firm that Messere Hawke give it to you, but messere claimed it would be too embarrassing. Funny the things we argue about when we think we have all the time in the world.” Bodahn choked up and wiped a tear from his eye with a well-worn kerchief. “I sure do miss our Leandra, I do.”

The words hit Sebastian like a knife in the gut. There were so many things he had shouted at his parents and his brothers that he’d give almost anything to take back now that they were in ashes. Three years later and it still hurt like a fresh wound.

Snatching up a pen, he wrote Charlotte a brief note:

_If there is anything that you require of me, you have only to name it._


End file.
